


Monsieur's Diary

by TheBratsPrincess



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Bondage, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Male Slash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 09:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBratsPrincess/pseuds/TheBratsPrincess
Summary: With no one to really talk about what is going on in his mind, heart and soul, Phillippe d'Orléans turns to his diary. A diary he trusts and confides in. All his thoughts and every dirty little secret.





	1. L'amour fraternel

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter specific tags are in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.  
> I seem to be writing a Louis/Phillipe chapter and then follow with a Monchevy one. And so on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippe remembers when he and his brother were teenagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Louis/Philippe, hand-job, little bit of brother/brother incest, nsfw

He is certainly beautiful. It is one of his very special abilities to appear beautiful to me no matter what. I have seen him in his best evening attire and naked and sweating in my bed. I have seen him dirty from a much detested hunting trip, or teary-eyed with all composure gone begging for my forgiveness. Every single time, he was beautiful.  
Sure, I have shared my bed with more beautiful creatures both male and female but there is something about the way he simply exists and indulges in pleasures as if they were made for him that makes him stand out. I do love him. But do I love him because he is beautiful, or is he beautiful because I love him? Both. Must be both.

I have lit only one candle while I write into this diary. I don't want to wake him. He snores softly, the blonde hair in a wild tousle around his head. My bed. Always my bed. I can't help it. There are some things I have control over. Not many, surely not. But some. What I wear and who I fuck. And luckily also where that fucking takes place.

Sometimes Louis wakes me up. Sometimes, when he does, he lingers in the room before he makes his presence known. And sometimes I am already awake. Then I feel his eyes on our naked bodies. They barely brush the Chevalier and then, then they linger on me. Beautiful eyes. And I am reminded of the times when we were younger, considerably younger, barely more than children.

It was the last time we escaped our governor and ran away. Yes, here at Versailles. It was just him and me. Louis ran to the east, to where the sun rises and I to the west, where it sets. We met in the stables, sweating and laughing. He spoke of the Madmoiselle de Chavery who had caught his eye. A pretty young thing, maybe 16 years old, barely older than we were. She and her parents were guests of the king, my brother. And then… then we sneaked to her family's apartment. There she was, bathing close to the window, secluded but not hidden enough for the dauphin and the prince. Yes, she was beautiful but while I can honor and admire female beauty, it doesn't touch my soul… or my prick.  
Louis however was mesmerized and I could tell from the deep breaths he took and the sudden tightness of his breeches that my brother was… intrigued, to say the least.

We ran off when a chamber maid nearly caught us and escaped into the nearby forests. My dear brother had a hard time composing himself and really, he didn't manage. All the sweeter were his attempts to hide his infatuation and desire. All the more insecure sounded his jokes about how I was so unmoved by female beauty.  
“What will you do?”, I asked, leaning against a tree while I watched my brother closely.  
“What can I do?”, replied Louis and let himself fall into the soft moss.  
“You will one day be king. There isn't much you cannot do.” I shrugged.  
“Except marrying her.” My brother sighed.  
“Louis… you want to fuck her. You don't have to marry her to do so.” That was talk way beyond our years. Neither him nor me had yet experienced the passions of the flesh with someone else.  
And Louis, sweet Louis blushed deeply, very unbecoming of a young man of his status. He stared to the ground, or the hardness in his breeches, who could tell, and kept silent.

I waited. And waited some more until suddenly it dawned on me and I smiled.  
“You… don't know how, do you? You don't know how to attract a woman. No… You don't know how to fuck a woman.” I swear, I did try to keep the amusement out of my voice. “But you do know how to handle your prick, don't you?”  
More silence. Now, it was me who blushed, me whose breath became just a little faster. No… I shook my head to chase away the most unholy thoughts in my mind but before I could… There he was. There my Louis was with all the force of the first-born and all the shame of the unexperienced. He pushed me closer to the tree I was leaning against, buried a fist in my hair and slammed my head back against the trunk. I must say, it was almost animalistic. Very arousing.  
“You… You will not say a word about this to anyone, do you understand?”  
I nodded quietly. Who would believe me anyway?  
“Good. Now teach me.” He let go of me and stepped back.

My mouth must have fallen open because I remember that I had to close it.  
I still believe that it was wrong. I still believe we were Cain and Abel that day. My brother Abel, the good and pure and righteous man and me Cain, the one who corrupts, who introduced him to sin, who might have very well “killed” him, forever keeping him from heaven, condemning him to hell.  
But no matter how wrong I (and we both really) knew it was, it happened nevertheless. Maybe Louis knew that there was no other man he could ask. No one else who could teach him what every man needs to learn at some point in his life.

I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around so that his back pressed against the tree. I told him to close his eyes because how could I have gone forth with my task while I had to look into his eyes, so full of pleasure and guilt and desire and shame? My head was buried in the crook of his neck while my then so unexperienced hands fumbled to open his breeches. I pushed my left leg between his, applied just some pressure here and there and shivered at his first moans. When I finally reached inside and grabbed him, Louis let out a sound that almost made me stop. Despair and need. We couldn't look at each other when I started to massage his prick slowly while my own was pushing painfully full against my own garments.

“Oh...” It was but a soft sound that came from him but it was so very delicious.  
I continued to stroke and felt his arm wrap around my shoulder, pulling me closer. His other hand began to explore. There it was on my hip, careful and barely touching. But before it could reach my crotch I grabbed it and joined it with my own, the one that was massaging him. I held him and soon we found a rhythm together. How could I ever forget that moment? Our hands slick with sweat and precum, fingers intertwined, palms wrapped around his arousal, stroking, massaging, gasping and moaning. I was all feeling and listening. My heart raced, my breath against his neck, his against mine.  
I can't tell if his eyes remained close. I can only tell that my face stayed buried against his neck. He pulled me closer, moaning and groaning into my ear. I couldn't help but press myself against him, push my own prick against his thigh to at least savor a little bit of friction. His legs began to shake and his hips pushed against our hands impatiently. I held his hand tighter and together we stroke him faster until I felt a well-known stiffness overcoming his body. Louis pressed his face against my shoulder to stifle his moans and then my big brother spilled his seed all over our joined hands.

Yes, that was the last time we ran away together. Louis was so ashamed of what had happened afterwards that he retreated into his own little world of King of France. But then on some mornings he lingers before he wakes me up and I can feel his eyes all over my body. The body he never got to touch like this while I certainly did touch his. I do not wish to catch him looking at me like that because in all honesty, I don't want him to stop.  
Yes, the Chevalier is beautiful. His love and lust wild and untamed and yet thoroughly mine. But my brother is the ultimate price. One forever out of my reach and yet painfully close in every minute of my day.


	2. Les démons de la guerre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes three entries from Philippe's diary that deal with his experiences in the war, his PTSD and how the Chevalier helped him to ground himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monchevy, Philippe/Chevalier, PTSD, bondage, nsfw

I.

Finally! After months and years of begging, I can finally go to war and bring my brother and king glory. I wish he had given me this opportunity earlier but then again, I do wish for many things and most of them do not find favor in his eyes. It is my deepest desire that one day Louis understands that I do have his back, no matter what. That I strive to bring glory to him and glory to France. That my love, my deepest and truest love, is for him and him alone. But I fear as long as he knows nothing about the sacrifices I make every day, his heart will not allow him to see that.

He still accuses me of leading a shameful life. One that disrespects my name and more importantly, the crown. The court hides the truth and calls it the “Italian vice”. I call it what it is: The Sin of Sodom. A sin so grave that the Lord wiped out an entire city because of it. Will He one day wipe out France because of my shameful acts? In my early years when I first learned what my body desires, I confessed to a priest who immediately ran to my mother and opened up about her youngest son's demonic thoughts. I remember it well. It happened shortly after that little interlude in the forests between Louis and me. The punishment for such thoughts was cruel but only for a little while. Then, all of a sudden, my mother's opinion changed radically and I was showered with gifts. Dresses and jewelery. Suddenly the court was crowded with young, beautiful men many of whom were known for their own dabbling in this gravest of sins.

I have to admit, it took me a while to understand why she acted the way she did. It took me years to figure out that the weaker, more womanly and sinful Prince Philippe is perceived, the more glorious and bright shines the sun of the king himself. The brother of a king is always his greatest enemy. Well, not when said brother is weak and in this weakness no threat to the crown. I settled into this life, I can't deny that and for years I simply gave myself over to the joie de vivre. But I do love my brother and I know that there is more I can do to serve him and my country than stay out of the way and appear non-threatening. Oh, how I have begged him to give me a chance, just one to proof my worth and loyalty. And now finally, he has given in. The weakling, the sinful, brother Cain goes to war. It will be grand.

II.

They've told us stories about battles and shown us great paintings of glorious victories. What they have never shared are the sounds and smells. The beginning madness in the voice of the soldier who carries his dead brother home – in a sack on his back. The smell of blood from both man and beast, the nauseating stench of rotting flesh. The aftermath of a battle is never glorious. Dying can be but death – never. Death is ugly and obscene and very unbecoming. I do not wish to see much of it again.

But how can I possibly describe what a battle feels like? The galloping horse between my thighs, the blade catching the light of the sun, the force of an army behind me, the battle cry of men, my men. Not the king's men for the king is not a soldier. My men. How the blood rushes through my veins and fills every last corner of my being with life when I ride towards the enemy. How glorious it is to advance, to conquer, to force my horse further and further behind enemy lines knowing that a well-placed arrow, a skilled blow with a sword or simple canon fire could end my life at any given second. Even now, when I think back, my prick fills again. The scent of man and beast, blood and steel is intoxicating. Fighting with passion and winning with intent – there is nothing better in a man's life. It is beautiful, indeed. I felt alive. Purposefully alive.  
I fucked the mistress of one of my generals and laughed while I did it. For the first time in many years, maybe forever, thrusting my prick into a woman has given me true pleasure and release. This is what war does to me. It makes me twice the man I used to be. Twice the threat I used to be. My brother will not be pleased.

 

III.

I sank to my knees, trembling, hands covering my ears, desperately trying to keep those horrible sounds and smells out. While the fireworks illuminated the sky with the brightest wonders, my heart began to stumble and my throat denied me much needed air. Through the fog before my eyes I saw images, as clear and real as day. Little did I know, or understand that they came from within, from the soul. A weak soul most certainly. A soul that could not set aside the horrors witnessed in battle.

The Chevalier found me as he so often finds me in moments of need. He grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me back onto my feet.  
“Come, my darling. I know what you need.”  
His voice calms me down even though for a moment in the darkness with only the fireworks illuminating the skies, I believed I saw blood on his face and a gashing ugly and very fatal looking wound on his neck. But then again, I was weak and my mind played tricks on me.  
Chevalier's grip was strong and grounding just like I knew his passion would be. So I allowed him to drag me with him, still dizzy, still trying to understand what was real and what was merely a figment of my imagination.

He pushed me back onto my bed so he could start undressing me but the moment he let go of me, my throat again felt like it was closing and the tremors in my hands became stronger. I cursed myself for such open display of weakness and cowardice but I couldn't force my body to obey my commands.  
But Chevalier knew what to do. Swiftly he loosened his own garments while I watched, breathlessly trying to ignore the sounds and smells of the fireworks outside that reminded me so much of canon fire and death. He climbed on top of me like he always does and pushed me higher, all the way to the headrest of the bed. When he grabbed my hand and wrapped one of the silken ropes that had held his garments together around it, I resisted. When only seconds later I felt his other hand firmly curling around my throat, taking my breath away in a very different way, hurting me and yet somehow grounding me in what was real, I began to relax into his touch.  
“You will trust me, Philippe. I know what you need.”  
There was nothing but love and concern in his eyes. No shame, no amusement because of my display of weakness. He knew. He told me afterwards. Sometimes war slashes wounds that are invisible to the eye.

And so I trusted him when he tied my hands to the bed poles and left me helpless. The ropes tightened around my wrists and I tugged on them. Oh, I was trapped. The muscles in my arms tensed visibly but I could not escape. As soon as I realized that, my tremors became less and I held tight to the ropes that held me in return. I felt… secure, as if their grip was my lover's, as if their hold somehow kept the memories at bay. Now he could safely undress me. Arms stretched out wide and half naked, I must have looked weak and pitiful. But I did not feel that way. On the contrary. I felt safe.

His kisses were planted with the utmost care and affection. I felt them on my neck first, featherlight and teasing. My dear lover left a trail of them on my chest and further down to my stomach. With my arms tied to the bed he couldn't remove a good part of my clothes. The weight of my evening attire only helped to ground me, helped me to distinguish madness from reality. His lips wandered lower and left wet marks on my hip bone and inner thigh. My prick had yet to truly respond to his affections, so shaken was I by the memories that the fireworks had forced me to relive.  
I watched him. Usually, I like to close my eyes and give myself over to just feeling him but today, I could not. I could not because I was afraid of what would lurk behind closed eyelids and so I watched. He knew and pulled his hair back so I could see it all. His warm, slender hands on my hips, his mouth nuzzling the underside of my prick. I gasped and tugged on the restraints but still they held me securely.

Oh, can anyone imagine my surprise when he reached over to the nightstand next to my bed and pulled out the little vial of oil that has helped us so very often to make passion easier and less painful? He covered his finger with the scented fluid and immediately the smell of roses filled the room. A smell I will forever associate with him, my dearest Chevalier.  
I am a man. My prick needs attention. But with my hands tied I was at his mercy and I focused all I had on him, on his every move. He ignored the center of my need and instead began the pleasurable work of opening me up. So often had he done it and so well he knew my body that he was able to push a finger deep inside of me without hurting me within minutes.  
This was something I knew and yearned for. This was me, had been me for many years. Being a soldier and the beauty and pain that came with it were new to me. But this, this dark passion of the flesh was utterly familiar. I let my head fall back and a moan slipped past my lips.  
Soon Chevalier added a second finger, pushed deeper and fucked me with all the laziness and time of a man who had his lover bound and unable to resist. Now finally and without ever being touched, my prick reacted as it should and hardened. The fireworks outside still forced unwanted images before my eyes but I knew now that they were a thing of the past. I knew that those finger inside of me pushing deeper so deliciously were real and were the only thing that mattered right now.

“Fuck me,” I gasped, half plea and half command. “Now.”  
He always obeys.  
With another swift and well-known move he replaced his fingers with his stiff prick and settled inside of me with a hard thrust that forced a scream past my lips.  
This was not about love, not even about intimacy. This was about giving in fully to the passion of another. It was about being used and fucked back into reality, to what was real and what was important.  
The Chevalier knelt before me, lifted my legs up and lay them over his own. My behind was lifted off the bed and immediately his prick reached deeper. He fucked me hard and fast. No mercy for the trembling soldier. His thrusts made me moan while they almost split me in half, pain and pleasure mingling into the most intriguing mixture that had my prick leak onto my stomach.  
I needed to touch it but could not. Being restraint like that drove my pleasure to unknown heights because here, right now, there was nothing I could do. Nothing I had to do. I didn't even have to be brother of the king. I was just Philippe. Just a man in the arms of the one he loves. No responsibilities, no roles, no need for composure, no fear of failure. Just Philippe.

“You are mine,” he growled and I could not protest. “Not the king's. Mine!”  
And I understood. This was relief. Relief from the fear and the anxiety. Relief that I was alive, that I had not died for my brother, for the country in a battle that was, however important, just another battle.  
“Please… Let me...” I tugged harder on the ropes that held me, that by now started to bite painfully into my wrists. A pain that I welcomed.  
He merely shook his head and did something so much better. He consumed me.  
I don't know what hurt me more, what gave me more pleasure, what grounded me more and cast the shadows of the war away. His teeth on my throat, his fingers digging into my neck and hip, his prick pounding into me. I cannot say. I don't know what allowed me to come back to myself. Was it the helplessness he forced me to experience and that he so expertly used to make me feel safe? Was it the reminder that I was a man deeply loved by another and that it was in sex where we found fulfillment and completion in each other? Or was it simply the very physical, very animalistic act of fucking our brains out that erased the memories? I don't have to be able to tell. Not anymore. It doesn't matter.

His torso pushed against mine, his stomach finally allowed my own prick to feel some friction and I bucked, bucked like a needy whore into his touch. He rasped words of affection into my ear, babbled about how much he needs me and how unchangeably I am his. Oh, how much I would have loved to embrace him but still, I couldn't. But I needed this. I, a Prince of France, desperately needed to submit to the passion of another man. And while I moaned and begged underneath him, my body writhing in pleasure and pain equally, the Chevalier did the unthinkable, again, and spilled his release into me.

Panting and gasping he collapsed on top of me while my own pleas for release became all the more urgent. He laughed in my face and denied me. ME! Instead he left the bed, left me humiliated and unsatisfied, only to return with wine that he began to feed me from the tips of his fingers. I swallowed greedily, hoarse from our passionate lovemaking.  
“Please. Chevalier! I… command you!”  
Again he laughed and his fingers but ghosted over my painfully full prick.  
“He might be the King of France but you, you are my king,” he teased.  
“You are mad!” My heart was beating wildly, I thought for sure it would burst from my chest for sure I would lose my mind if he didn't touch me soon. Talk like this was blasphemous and yet, yet it was what I needed.  
“Well… Let's be mad together…”  
Finally, FINALLY his palm wrapped around my prick. It didn't take him long until I cried out and found much needed release. The fireworks still thundered around the castle but now it was merely background music to my bliss.

I do not remember what followed. He must have untied me and freed me from the rest of my garments. Surely, he gave me more wine and before long I found myself in his arms, warm and safe once more, still surrounded by the scent of roses. Yes, the Chevalier knows what I need.  
The black and blue bruises around my wrists are a sure sign of just how close to madness I came and how profoundly he saved me from the demons of the war.


	3. La compassion du roi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis finds out about Philippe's latest adventure in bed and is definitely not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurt and comfort, Louis/Philippe, nsfw

 

Nothing could have prepared me for my brother's reaction. We dined together two nights after the fireworks had threatened to overwhelm me. When I reached for more wine I accidentally exposed my wrist to him. Maybe it was my so very shameful attempt of hiding it that allowed him to figure out what I had done, what I had allowed. I cannot tell. But in the end, Versailles is his world and he most likely knows everything that goes on in here.

He summoned me late at night when half of the palace was already asleep. I was… is afraid the right word? I do not fear his rage but I fear what he might do while consumed by it. Will he send me to another war? Will he remove my dearest Chevalier? There is so much he could do to hurt me. His power over me is limitless. Trembling, hands clenched into fists I stood in front of the door to his bedchamber waiting for him to allow me inside. He had commanded me to come so abruptly that I had no time to change into more dignifying garments. I wore nothing but my white nightgown and a dressing gown tossed over it hastily.  
There I waited. And waited. He was playing one of his so very well-known games for I most certainly could hear him laugh. Him and a woman. One of his countless mistresses for sure. Finally, he allowed me inside.

Smirking he took my hand and exposed my wrist once more. Mockingly he brought it to his lips and kissed the bruise. My fists would not unclench.  
“Have you been attacked, dear Philippe?”  
I remained silent.  
“Who dares to hurt the brother of the king?”  
Again, I did not reply for his mockery was obvious and I would not become a victim of it.  
“Answer me!” His voice thundered in the otherwise silent room and I must admit that I recoiled in a sudden rush of dread.  
“You… know. Don't you?” I did try to keep my voice as steady as possible but I cannot say that I managed. Louis huffed and let go of my wrist.  
“Of course I know. My brother allows the Chevalier de Lorraine to tie him up like a whore and then wears the marks visibly and proudly in court. Are you trying to ruin me on purpose, brother, or are you simply that ignorant and uncaring?”  
I swallowed and grabbed my fingers behind my back very much aware that if I would not do so, I would shout back at him, or worse, attack.  
“He did what I asked him to do.” A lie. Now, I was lying to the king. “I did not feel well.”  
But Louis was not having it.  
“I do not care who you fuck, or who fucks you, Philippe but I do care, I MUST care about how your behavior reflects on me. Do you have any idea what your extravagant lifestyle is costing me, both in gold and in prestige? No, you don't. Because you don't care. You never cared. Well then, tonight, I do not care.” 

Oh, I surely wanted to rebuke those ridiculous accusations. I do love my brother, despite his best attempts to make me convince otherwise. But I didn't get the chance. Can you imagine my surprise when two guards grabbed me all of a sudden and forced me to his bed. They used rough ropes to tie my arms around one of the bed posts so I could not help but face the sheets. I did struggle even though I knew they were just obeying orders as they should. I did shout at Louis, oh yes. Told him that he should not toy with my affection, asked him how he dared to treat his own brother like this, begged him to let me go and assured him time and time again that I would not allow the Chevalier to do a thing like that ever again.  
The ropes cut into my already aching wrists. The bed post felt cold and hard against my face and I began to fear whatever punishment Louis had invented for his oh so very undignified brother. I understood very well how ridiculous and how outrageous this whole scene was but then again, Louis had always been creative. Especially when it came to humiliating his enemies. For one long aching heartbeat I wondered if I was one of those now.  
Then, I saw her emerging from the covers naked like Venus from the shell. My wife, Henriette. No, it did not come as a surprise to me that she was in my brother's bed. How had he so eloquently replied when I accused him of fucking her?  
"Someone has to!"  
As if marriage and love can be broken down to sex alone. Well, what can I say? It might be true for the king who seduces and uses women in such rapid succession, it's sometimes hard to keep up with it. Between men however sex is so much more. It's never just taking and conquering. It's mutual giving, shared lust, true consummation. I doubt that women are even capable of such passion, such pleasure. Well, of course they are not. They carry our children and it is our duty to put our seed into their womb. While that is be pleasurable for a man, it simply doesn't have to be for a woman. My poor brother. Never will he taste the true heights of lust a man can only achieve with another man. And poor Babette. As sweet and beautiful as she is, she will nevertheless not ever be able to quench Louis' desires like others could. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Fear I would never admit to began to tighten my chest. I wasn't so much afraid of Louis hurting me. I would be able to deal with that. No, what I truly feared was humiliation. The ropes rubbed painfully against my bruises. Should I fight them any harder, they might break the skin and I would bleed onto the king's bed. How very unfortunate that would be. My brother didn't reply. Instead he sent the guards out of the room.  
"Isn't this something you enjoy?" There was malice in his voice the like I've rarely or maybe never heard from him before.  
"No, brother, you misunderstood. Stop this... this…"  
"What?" He was just a little too calm which in his case always translates to anger. The king's anger can so easily turn into rage.  
"You are using your power over me to teach me a lesson. I understand. No one but the King can restrain me... and does so all too frequently in many ways. I must not allow anyone control over me but you, my king."  
My words came out fast. I was almost babbling. But the need to appease him was stronger than my pride for I knew that for the King of France appearance is everything. And did I not betray that very principle? When he didn't reply but instead began to kiss and caress my wife, my pleas grew more desperate. 

"Did somebody see us? I swear the doors were locked." Another lie. I had been in absolutely no condition to determine if they were or weren't.  
"Louis... Stop this madness. I beg you. I…"  
Oh, my pride was so hurt by now, I was so profoundly humiliated that my cheeks felt burning hot. And I realized that the guards who had bound me to the bed might talk about it. I realized that I could very well lose all the respect I had just gained as a soldier and commander. Because the Chevalier did what he did.  
I watched the King's fingers dig into Henriette's breasts. The poor thing looked equally uncomfortable but just like me she was bound by his will and his will alone. Her eyes were fixed on the sheets and her utterances of pleasure were lies even to my ears.  
"Louis... Please. Do you want me to atone for my transgression? Is it that? So speak, I beg you. Speak to me. Let me know what I can do. Louis... For the love of God, speak to me."  
But still my pleas remained unanswered and my brother continued to seduce my wife. 

Eventually I simply pressed by forehead against the cold bed pole. I needed to calm myself. Hadn't Louis said all too often that a good negotiator is scarce with words? And here I was babbling away. The truth was that no matter what I did, or didn't do in the next minutes and no matter what he or Babette did, the story of what happened here tonight would be his. No matter what humiliation awaited us, it would be the king's version of the events that would be considered truth. There was not only no need to fight it, but also simply no way to do so in the first place.  
"Whatever you must do, do it." Finally I lowered my eyes and gave in to the inevitable. "If you need to fuck my wife in front of eyes, go ahead. You are the king. All I have, all I am is yours." 

It were those words that reached him. He looked up at me and I could see his smirk disappearing. Without speaking just yet he covered Henriette with his own dressing gown, an action welcomed immediately. She got up, wrapped the gown tighter around her little body and fled this miserable and undignified scene.  
"Forgive me," was all she mumbled as she rushed past me and through one of the many so well hidden doors. There was nothing to forgive. She was as helpless as I was. 

Accusingly I lifted my tied arms.  
"Stop this madness," I demanded once again. "Untie me. I will listen to everything you have to say." Oh, I was furious and so mad with rage I wanted to lash out. I wanted to hurt this monster of a brother and at the same time I was so grateful that I could not. Imagine me injuring the king... Besides, the best way past Louis' wrath has always been gentleness. I tried my best despite the same storm raging in my own heart.  
"I love you, brother. Forgive me."  
Did my voice betray me? Where my words more than that? More than simple words? Was there any true and honest meaning in them? I could not tell. I do love him. But do I love him because he is my brother, or because he is my king? Both? Almost impossible. I kept my eyes lowered for I feared that if I looked at him, he would see the barely disguised hatred in them. And who knew? In his current mood he might consider it treason. I couldn't see what he did but I certainly heard him leaving the bed. I heard him walking around me, stopping behind me like a wolf stalking a lamb. "Louis..." My voice was so soft, barely more than a whisper. A desperate plea. 

"Why must you always defy me, brother?" Oh finally! Finally he spoke and I wanted to weep so relieved was I. Trying to turn in my restraints was hopeless and so I had to reply without being able to look at him. Sometimes my brother scares me.  
"It happened in my private chambers. We were alone. I made sure…"  
His hand curled around my throat so unexpectedly that I stumbled half a step forward and was pushed hard against the bed post. It hurt and I felt blood running from a little cut on my forehead. Did he know I was lying? How could he?  
"I... He did what he had to do to calm me down."  
Louis' grip became even tighter and I gasped for air. His other arm grabbed my shoulder and I felt his body pressing against my back. Oh I could tell that he had indeed intended to fuck Henriette in front of me. I could tell because the sword in his breeches was ready to strike. I was still lying, was I not? Chevalier could have called a doctor. There was no reason for what he did. 

"War... War has injured me. My mind. My heart." I pressed the words past his fingers that dug so mercilessly into my flesh. Here I admitted once more how weak I was, how fragile. "I felt... lost. He... bound me... found me. Quenched the... madness."  
There. I said it. I admitted it. Madness. I begged him for war and then, when he granted it, I was unable to return home whole and sane.  
Louis' grip loosened but he didn't move an inch. The hand around my throat now simply rested on my shoulder and just moments later the king embraced me. I felt his hot, stuttering breath against my ear, felt his other hand wander lower until he could wrap it around my waist. Sudden wetness on my cheeks made me aware of my own tears.  
"I'm sorry," I cried. "I'm so sorry I can't be the man you need me to be. I'm so very sorry. Louis..." But I didn't even find it in me to ask for forgiveness. Maybe because I felt that I didn't deserve it. Again my brother didn't reply. Instead, he talked with his touch. A gentle, yet firm touch. Big, strong hands against my chest and around my waist. His chin resting on my shoulder.  
“Please…,” I begged one last time. “Untie me.” I could smell the expensive perfume he was wearing, so close was he. Felt the frame of his body easily melting against my own. We were so alike. There, something on my cheek. Lips. The king's lips, kissing my tears away. I did not know if I should have felt offended, humiliated or blessed.  
“Babette was right,” he suddenly murmured. “You are so stunningly beautiful when you weep, brother.” 

His hand around my waist reached for the ropes that held me and untied them slowly. I did not dare to turn around. Instead I grabbed his hands and squeezed them. My wrists and the cut on my forehead burnt.  
“I… try to stay sane, Louis. Try to not show the court how… injured I am.”  
“There is more to sanity than the absence of madness,” he replied quietly.  
My brother still didn't move, still kept me trapped against the bed pole, his hands now roaming more freely over my barely covered body.  
“Passion has always helped me in dark times.” Now, here was a truth I didn't know I knew!  
“You have humiliated the king,” Also that was most likely the truth although one I couldn't quite admit myself. “You are my brother, Philippe. When you hurt, you come to me. I will help.”  
I leaned back into his arms, against his chest. 

“You never would. Not like I need it.” I couldn't believe we were talking about this. But there he was, seeking intimate closeness, the like we hadn't shared since that day when we were young. “There is nothing a king cannot do,” he replied calmly and oh, how my heart jolted in my chest when I felt his fingers inching underneath my dressing gown so that nothing but one thin layer separated his hand from my hip bone. “Nothing I must not do to help my brother. This is the compassion of a king, Philippe.”  
Oh, be still my heart… He took another tiny step forward and closed whatever distance there had been between us. The last stings of humiliation melted away and my prick shamefully began to fill under his onslaught of affection. But was that his free will, or was it again his brother Cain seducing him to sin? Finally, I turned around to face him. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my cheek. His lips were barely half an inch from mine. Oh… how much I wanted him. 

“Don't allow me to corrupt you, my king,” I breathed barely audible.  
His posture and body language changed so abruptly that I immediately became aware of the huge mistake I had just made. He pulled away from me. His face that had been so full of affection and gentleness hardened into what I can only describe as the mask of the king. And then, my brother simply walked away. The door slammed behind him and what was left for me to do was sneak out of his bedchamber like a common thief and find someone to tend to my wounds. 

I cannot speak. Even now as dawn breaks, I still haven't found my voice. Do I truly understand what happened? Did my brother really attempt to console me with the only thing I knew intimately, the only thing that had the power to heal me – passion? Was he jealous that I found help somewhere else, far away from his arms? I cannot tell. What I do know is that I feel this sudden coldness in my heart. As if I have lost something fundamentally important but cannot quite say what it is. Oh brother, forgive this fool. My whole desire was to protect you. Remember? Appearance is everything.


	4. Hadrian and Antinoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippe has to reevaluate his relationship to the Chevalier after his latest very close encounter with his brother. That's when something horrible happens in Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monchevy, Philippe/Chevalier, NSFW, smut, hurt/comfort, TW: mentioning of deaths and torture
> 
> Hadrian was a Roman emperor, Antinoos the young man he loved more than anyone else.

IV. Hadrian and Antinoos

I.

Oh, he was so mad at me. I don't think I've ever seen him so enraged. It is lovely really how he tries so hard to still treat me according to my status when he'd rather throw plates at me, or rip my throat out. I love the pinkness in his cheeks that either speaks of rage, or passion. All too often both. Never shame. The Chevalier is not a man who knows a sentiment like that. I truly wish I could have kissed him, held him but under the present circumstances I had to refrain from showing any open affection. And wasn't that exactly what had made him so mad in the first place?

Over the last days Chevalier has taken to me exceptionally well. He treated the bruises on my wrists with the utmost care. It wasn't even beneath him to apply soothing ointment and bandage them anew twice a day. I had decided that it was better to cover them now that Louis knew.  
"Why will you not tell me what he said?" My lover had been pestering me for days and did so again while he rubbed my wrists carefully, just applying enough pressure to make his presence known. The Chevalier had shared my bed when I was called to my brother. So when I came back, visibly shaken, he pushed me to reveal what had happened but... How could I entrust such a thing to him? My brother, so enraged, so close, so aroused. My brother, ready to... could it be true? Ready to be with me in the most sinful way imaginable just because he thought it would help me. Just because he wants to be the brother I need.  
"My dear friend," I replied once more. "There are some things I cannot share with you."  
"I don't like it when you keep secrets from me, darling. It doesn't suit us." He pouted. Sometimes he does that just to amuse me. This time however it was real.  
"I can't and... while we're at it. You and I... I don't know…"

The look in his eyes when my words truly reached his mind... I believe, I could see his heart break.  
“W-what don't you know?” Chevalier's voice was so… small. There really is no better word. He sounded almost like a boy. Small, fragile, insecure and hurt. I don't think I've ever heard him like that before.  
I pulled my hand away from his grip and stood up from the bed where we had been sitting.  
“Well, it seems that now more than ever the king disapproves of… us.” I kept my eyes on the ground, a rather unusual gesture for me but what could I do? I was hurting the man I loved purposefully. How can that be right?  
“You've never cared, Philippe. It never mattered! What has… why now?”  
He was breaking my heart while I was breaking his.  
“Because I say so. I'm still the king's brother.”

I forced my head up high and stared into his eyes. Oh, the pain in his.  
Why did I even feel the need to lash out like this? Was it really just Louis' disapproval that forced my hand? No, of course not. For while the king did disapprove of visible marks like the one on my wrists, he had always been rather content with the fact that I was no danger to his mistresses. He might not explicitly like the Chevalier but he was satisfied with the fact that my sinful love life kept me from being a threat to him, imagined or not. So why did I feel the need to push away the only person in all of Versailles who loved me? Truly loved me. Not Monsieur, not the king's brother, the Prince of France, the Duke of Orléans. Me. Philippe. Someone who has been by my side for years. Why now?  
Oh, if only I could tell. If only it were that easy. Maybe it comes down to the simple fact that if I had to choose (and right now I feel I have to) then I choose my brother over my lover. Family first. Always. I love Louis and yes, I still love him as my brother and not just dutifully as my king.

I am the evil sibling, that much has been clear for many years now but… how evil can it truly be when my heart exalts every time he enters the room? How depraved can I be when all I want is affection and gentleness? How sinful can love be? Is love not patient and blind? Isn't that what Scripture says? And if it is indeed blind, then why should it matter if I love a man, or a woman… or my brother? We marry our cousins and half-siblings all the time. Why would it be so wrong? All I want is his affection, his trust. All I want are his arms around me. I want him to allow me to see his weaknesses and fears. I want him to be mine and I want to be his. If that means that the Chevalier must leave my life, well…

So many thoughts in such a short time. I came back to reality when the pain I had caused became too much to bear and the Chevalier lashed out. His fist connected with my cheek bone and sent me stumbling backwards against a cupboard.  
“Because you say so? Because YOU SAY SO?”  
We have always been prone to shouting. It does help when emotions run high. This time however his voice almost broke. The tears in my eyes were as much caused by pain as they were by shame, by the sting of loss. A loss I had caused myself.  
But oh, how beautiful he was even now. Cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, an avenging angel.  
“Alright then.” He straightened his coat and wiped his hair back. He found composure so fast, too fast. Had he in the end thought the same? That what we had was a thing of he past?  
“Alright then.” I nodded and turned my back to him, studying the wall in a ridiculously childish gesture.

The door slammed shut behind him. Only then was I able to allow myself to sink down on my bed and weep. I had just lost the love of my life. And it was my fault alone.

 

 

II.

Oh, this diary must never be seen by any other living soul. Not here in Versailles, not ever. I wonder sometimes if I should destroy it. If Louis knew about it, he certainly would. It is after all proof of my weakness and failure… and whatever damages my prestige, certainly damages his as well. But I have to talk to someone. The events of this night, the passion, the pain… Who else could I confide in? And confide in someone I must or I will become mad.  
Three days and nights have passed since I cut so deeply into the Chevalier's heart that I myself felt the wound. Three long and boring days and three lonely and cold nights without him.

Rumors from the commoners usually don't reach me. I am simply not interested. This rumor, which turned out to be much more than that, however became known to me through one of my personal servants. A young boy, maybe 14 years old. He told me that two men were executed a few days ago in the Bastille in Paris. Of all things they were burnt alive. A smith and… ah, I forgot. I heard that their screams were so pained, they barely sounded human anymore. I wonder if the stench of their burning flesh has dissipated by now. Their crime? They were in love and caught in the act of lovemaking. Sometimes, all too often really, I forget in what kind of times we live. Times in which the old Greek virtue of mutual male love is frowned upon not only by the commoners but by law itself. And therefore by the king because in the end, he is the law. I forget how privileged I am and how lucky. My love for men serves my country. Sometimes I wonder if that is the only reason why I am still alive.

Those poor men. Commoners for sure but aren't they my brothers more than all the chevaliers, marquis' and kings of the world could ever be? Burnt for who they love. I know myself. I know that I've never had a choice. I can fuck a woman if I have to but there is no real pleasure in it. I can love a woman if asked to but true passion, true deep devotion has always been limited to men. The law kills me and the ones like me for who we are. But the law is based on the Bible. How can Scripture speak of love and at the same time condemn my kind to death? Isn't that the most shameful act? No, I must not speak like this. Blasphemy is in the end the highest crime and because my sins are many, I have to at the least keep praying and begging God for forgiveness.  
I wonder how often such an unspeakable punishment really happens. How often do men die because of how their hearts move them? I didn't know they existed but I weep for those two.

Sleep eluded me that night for every time I closed my eyes and listen to the crackling fire in my chambers, I feared the flames would consume me. It didn't matter that such a thing was impossible. I feared it nevertheless and it took any notion of sleep away. The palace was quiet and all I could do was stare at the ceiling, wondering if I needed to ask for wine to simply drink myself into unconsciousness.  
I startled when a dark figure suddenly appeared next to me and unceremoniously climbed into my bed. Fear held such a reign over my heart that I expected the worst and struggled to get away. Arms engulfed me and the well-known scent of roses. A hushed voice.  
“Shhh, my darling. It is only me.”  
There he was. Right when I needed him the most. Right then he welcomed me into his arms no matter what I had said to him just days before.  
“Philippe,” I whisper and sank into his embrace like a lost child. No, I don't often call him by his name but when I do it makes us equals.  
“Philippe,” he whispered back just as softly, pulled me against his chest and pressed kisses to my hair.  
“Have you heard what happened in the Bastille?” I couldn't talk about us, about if or if not we should be together. I only knew that right now my own country frightened me.  
I felt him nodding and exhale a trembling breath. My arms wrapped around him, held him close. This is what it came down to, right? Just me and him against the world.  
“Love me,” he murmured against the crook of my neck. “Please, Philippe, love me. If you don't do it, no one else will.”  
I nodded and tears filled my eyes.  
“Only if you love me in return. Because if you don't… who will?”  
Certainly not my own brother. What was I thinking? The most powerful man in all of France has a brother like me who he claims to love and still does nothing against cruel and unjust laws that would condemn his own flesh and blood to death if he were a lesser man. No, Louis does not love me. He never will.

The Chevalier kissed me hungrily as soon as the words had left my lips.  
His passion is often rough and almost desperate. As if every time we make love he is afraid that it could be the last time. Well, considering the circumstances in this country, he could very well be right. I shudder at thoughts like these. Maybe I was born in the wrong century. If now we burn the same men at the stake whose love was perfectly acceptable 1500 years ago, then I dread what the next millennium will bring. Will the law require us at some point in the future to kill our own children the moment they show love for the wrong sex? Enough with the dark thoughts. Men cannot know the future so I will not linger there anymore.

Where was I? Oh yes, kisses. Passionate kisses eager to be shared. I kissed him back just as hungrily, indeed afraid that it would not last. But this time for the first time, well, ever our minds played a part in this game. We slowed down. I held him. Just held him and caressed his hair, his neck, his side. He was hot, maybe a touch too hot. But I cast all worries aside. My legs fell open so he could settle between them. I tilted my hips just slightly and was immediately rewarded by the gentlest of friction against my prick. His breathless sigh told me that he felt exactly the same. Nothing separated us but the two thin layers of our night gowns. With the law that sentenced these two strangers to death looming over us we trembled in each other's arms. His fingers ran through my hair and along the line of my jaw. There was wonder in his eyes as if this was the first time he'd ever seen me. He lay his hand against my chest.  
"Your heart...," he whispered. It hammered so strongly in my chest, I could feel it myself.  
"No... YOUR heart," I insisted. He smiled and rewarded me with the sweetest kiss to my collarbone.  
With a hum he moved against me, rolled his hips and made me shudder. All it took us were a few well-practiced twists and turns and our garments came off. Ah… nothing like skin on skin. Nothing like feeling the warmth of another human being so intimately close. I inhaled deeply. His own personal scent mixed with the smell of roses made me gasp softly and close my eyes in bliss.  
“Forgive me,” I mumbled against his throat. “You need to be mine. Forgive what I said. I was wrong. So very wrong.”  
A finger pushed against my lips and shut me up.  
“Shhh… no need, darling. I am yours. I have always been yours.”  
Another kiss and then a hand wandering between our legs, the gentlest of touches against my hipbone, my thigh. What a blessing this man is.

Soon my own hand joined his, felt the heat of his skin and the growing stiffness of his prick.  
“Look at me,” he demanded and I opened my eyes obediently.  
I began to massage him gently, slowly, nothing compared to the frantic love making we are usually known for. His hand soon joined on my own hardness with the same gentle rhythm. I loved how he held me. So close, as if he was protecting me, as if he actually believed that he could save me from whatever demon was out there… or whatever law.  
His breath stuttered against my cheek when my hand grabbed him just a little harder. Soon we were moving against each other, utterly unwilling to let go, utterly unable to think and feel, breath and smell anything but the one in our arms.  
“Yes…” he whispered. “You are so good at this.”  
His hips moved against me, thrusting his prick into my fist. But still he was able to keep some self-control. Still his movements, just like mine, remained slow and deliberate.  
I love feeling the flexing of his muscles when he pushes against me, the wild beating of his heart that I can so easily feel against my own chest. I love how his hair tickles my face in the sweetest and most innocent way, while his prick leaks into my hand and against my stomach. I love his firm grip around my own hardness, his other hand against my shoulder, forcing me down into the sheets. I love how he can make the most passionate love-making still slow and gentle if he feels that it is what I need. And yes, it is.  
His mouth fell half open. He was breathing heavily. Sweat had formed on his forehead. His beautiful eyes dilated. He shuddered under my touch. I knew it well and it took my just a few more caresses for him to be overcome by pleasure. Oh, how beautiful he was. And how thoroughly mine.

Sometimes, the Chevalier can be an altruistic man. Then, he doesn't even wait one second to recover without making sure that I feel the same pleasure that he just did.  
His grip around my prick became tighter and his movements faster. I bucked against him in surprise, a gesture that only made him grin.  
“Don't you dare look away. Don't you dare close your eyes.”  
I didn't. Even when ecstasy overcame me with a force that can only be described as divine, I didn't. Instead I allowed myself to drown in the bliss and his eyes equally until the rush was over and I sank deeper into the sheets, utterly spent and tired. Immediately he pulled me closer. Held me like no one else ever has. We might live in dangerous times but his love keeps me afloat. I will not ever let him go.

“Why?” I asked after several minutes. “Why do I have to look into your eyes?”  
His voice was slurred from tiredness and lazy happiness. “Because, my darling, when the pleasure takes you… pleasure I have given you… then you are truly mine. Only then are we truly equals. I like to believe that Antinoos asked Hadrian for the exact same thing.”  
“Hadrian was an emperor and Antinoos a mere boy. We are neither, my dear. And I am yours. Always.”


	5. Cherished Madness of my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philippe discovers that is brother has betrayed him yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Story of David and Johnathan can be found in the BIble in 1 Samuel 18

I.  
“LOUIS!” My voice thundered through the halls of the palace. All it got me were looks. The same old looks that I always get when I do something that is considered out of line. Looks that speak of shock, however fake, and disdain. 

Yes, yes I know if I wasn't the king's brother, there would be no place for me at court. Not with the way I behave. But as a matter of fact I am so I will do as I please. I will dance on the line between what is considered appropriate and what is my right to do as the second man in the state. As if Louis would ever acknowledge that. As if he would ever trust me, EVER allow me to be the man I was meant to be and not just the one my birth forces onto me. What are two years? Nothing! They pass in the blink of an eye and yet… Yet two years are all that were necessary to determine our destinies. Who says that Louis is the better king just because he happened to be born earlier? I am certainly the better commander. I am better at war. That is a simple fact. And had I enjoyed the same education and upbringing that he has, I would make a fine king, maybe ever a finer one. I know this talk comes very close to treason but I do not care. How can I after what he did to me today? 

He cut me down again. He forced me into submission like I was some stray dog. Does he treat anyone more unfairly than me? Does he lie to anyone more than me? He keeps reassuring me of his affection and trust and then… then he lashes out like only a king can. One simple command and the world must bow to his will. Ah… I'm ranting but what can I do. He betrayed me. Again. But wait… let's start at the beginning. 

When I woke up that morning my bed was empty. By now the bruises on my wrists were gone. There was no night that the Chevalier and I had not spend in the same chambers. Our love was more tender these days, gentler and somehow deeper and more honest. I need him so much right now and sometimes I dare to believe that he feels the same.  
I send for him to join me for breakfast but he was nowhere to be found. In the end, I went myself. His chambers were empty. And I mean empty. Not only was he gone but so were his clothes and most of his other belongings. There is only one man in the whole country who is able to do such a thing. The man I was very ready to shout at no matter who heard it, or who frowned over it. 

“LOUIS!” I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My cheeks were red, my hair in disarray. I was in no way appropriately dressed to meet the king who was currently in the middle of state affairs and as always dressed to nines. “OUT!” I shouted at the men surrounding him. Of course they didn't move. Instead they barely looked at me and awaited their king's order. As they should. But Louis didn't react. He didn't even acknowledge that I was in the room.  
“Louis! Don't you dare!”  
The seconds ticked away. Seconds of me standing in the room like a fool. I swear I heard some of his ministers snicker and… did I see a servant smile as well? Oh, the humiliation!  
“Louis!” Eventually I was so sick of his little game that I simply walked around the big table he was standing at, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him against me. Immediately I heard the rattling of swords behind me. His personal guards ready to strike. He merely lifted his hand and they stepped back. He still didn't speak but instead lowered his gaze to my fingers that were so tightly wrapped around his garments. I let go. What else could I do? 

“Yes, brother?”  
Oh… how badly I wanted to strike him. He was toying with me.  
“Where is he?” My hands clenched into fists. Fists that I kept very close to my body to appear as nonthreatening as possible. Well, hasn't that been my curse all my life?  
“On a mission to Italy,” he replied calmly, obviously determined to have this conversation right here in front of all his ministers and a good handful of his servants. Great! He must have known that rumors about this conversation would spread like wildfire and paint me in the most ridiculous light.  
“A mission? What kind of mission? When is he expected back? And why was he required to take all his possessions from his chambers?”  
Again, AGAIN, I was simply babbling. I should know so much better by now. But the heartache made me weak. The Chevalier was the only person in all of Versailles who always stood by me, who had my back no matter what, who loved me. Just loved me. I really don't ask for anything more.  
“My decision has been made, Philippe. Now leave us.”  
Yes, the king's voice. Almost cold and distant, most certainly very professional. I knew that tone very well. He will not discuss with me and it is certainly beneath him to explain himself. 

I stepped back. Luckily Colbert who stood right behind me hastily got out of the way or otherwise, I swear, I would have punched him. I was so infuriated yet there was no way I could release my aggressions without causing myself more trouble.  
I bowed to the king, more a mockery than anything else. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, a sure sign that he was about to lose his temper. Then, childish and weak as I always am, I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.  
“Alright then, back to business.”  
I rammed my fist into the wall next to the door when I heard him say those words. How dare he, king or not, ridicule me like that? 

Somehow I found the way to my chambers without being overcome by grief. Once however the doors closed behind me I sank to my knees and wept.  
This is how a king controls men, especially the ones closest to him. He divides them from what matters in their lives. He conquers them by forcing them to surrender all they are to him and him alone.  
Divide and conquer indeed. 

II.

My anger subsided in the next couple of days and gave way to a deep sadness. I had severely injured my hand when it connected to the wall so every little daily task I attempted to perform gave me pain. A pain I welcomed, to be honest because at least it distracted me from the one in my heart. I wrote the Chevalier a letter every day and while it would have been better for my healing to dictate them, I couldn't bear that anyone besides him and me would know the words of affection and grief we exchanged. 

My dearest Chevalier,  
time cannot pass fast enough. Your return is eagerly awaited. I can hardly bear not feeling your body next to mine at night, can hardly stand not waking up next to you. I don't know what has caused my brother to send you away but whatever it is, we will not let it happen again. Once you return into my arms there will be no more doubts, no more games. We will leave this place and never return. And if I have to leave not only the court but France itself to be with you, I will. Louis might be the Sun King, but you, my love, are my moon, illuminating even the darkest night.  
Please hurry home as fast as you can.  
Yours,  
Philippe 

I should have known really that Louis would not tolerate my proclamations of love for another man to leave the walls of Versailles. He found me in my chambers, still in bed in the middle of the day and threw a bundle of letters on the ground before me. Letters I immediately recognized as my own. Every single one of them had been opened and read.  
“Why can you not stop disappointing me, brother?”  
His voice was cold and distant but… maybe I imagined it… there was a hint of true sadness and honest disappointment in it. Well, I could not honor those sentiments right away for surely I was too mad at him.  
“My private conversations, brother. Really? Is there nothing that is sacred to you? Not even when it come to your only brother?”  
Yes, I was mad but I didn't sound like it. If anything I was deeply disappointed and heart broken.  
“Words like these can not only be used to ridicule me and with that all of France but are also dangerous to you. I can protect you within the borders of Versailles but out there? Do you have any idea how often I am urged by bishops and cardinals alike to either put an end to your… behavior, or ban you from court and make you accessible to the law?”  
Immediately I remembered the two poor men who had suffered such a horrible death simply because they loved each other.  
“Don't you understand that such letters endanger the Chevalier de Lorraine just as much, especially when he is out there and not protected by these walls?” 

Louis was right and of course I absolutely hated that.  
“He is not protected because YOU sent him away, Louis. YOU! If something happens to him...”  
I couldn't even finish the thought. It was too horrifying. So I went for something else he had said, something that has shocked me equally.  
“You would hand me over to the law? You do know what happens to men like me once we are convicted, yes?”  
He huffed, frowned and then finally he lost his temper in an explosion of violence. The king threw himself into my bed, his body heavily against me and pushed me face down into the sheets and pillows. For one horrible moment I thought I would not be able to breathe. He trapped me with his weight, one hand restricting my own, the other curled around my throat. Shocked, I lay perfectly still. Somehow, I could not bear more pain, more fighting right now. 

“You are a sinner, Philippe. One of the worst kind. Men like you? You mean liars, traitor, murderers? All sinners, all like you. Why can't you just save me and your whole country the humiliation and have mistresses like any other man of status? Why must you sin and defile my house, my name and the crown over and over again? I removed the Chevalier to help you, to set you free from his evil influence. I don't know, maybe he cast a spell on you. Maybe he is the devil. His influence over my own brother is certainly demonic.”  
He pressed those words out, spit them into my ear and I couldn't help but shudder under his rage.  
“I sent you to war, gave you what you wanted so you would quit ridiculing me with your behavior but you, you just can't stop, can you? You are the most depraved man I have met in all my life! If you weren't my brother I would...”  
He stopped himself abruptly and rolled off of me, his breathing heavy.

“What,” I whispered, deeper hurt than I wanted to let him know. “You would do what? Have me burn at the stake like those poor bastards a few weeks ago at the Bastille?”  
His silence only cut me deeper and while at any other day, I would have shouted back at him, this time I could not. I was too broken.  
“Would you watch, listen to my screams until the flames consume me? Would you inhale the stench of my burning flesh and then return to Versailles for a party, proud that you rid the Earth of yet another sinner?”  
“Don't talk like that, Philippe.”  
“Why not? You are the one accusing me. You are the one hurting me. Why should I not defend myself? Isn't that my right?”  
More silence but at least he didn't get up and leave the room.  
“My sin is grave, I do know that, brother.”  
I was so hurt, so disappointed and simply so sick of his little games that I didn't even have the strength to shout at him.  
“Yet when it comes to my Chevalier my sin is born out of love. The truest, deepest love, a divine love that I cannot fight, that I cannot...”  
His hand was back at my throat with such a force that I gasped and choked.  
“Do not speak of love when you mean depravity and sin, brother. You will burn in hell if you don't stop!” 

My eyes filled with tears and I lowered them so I would not see the disgust in his.  
“But… I do love him, Louis. Like I've never loved anyone before.”  
His hand would not move and I was forced to open my mouth, breathe slowly, deliberately and focused. I believe he was waiting for a rebuttal or at least an apology for what I had just said but there wouldn't be one. Why? Because I knew I spoke the truth.  
“And I will continue to love him… and if it kills me, so be it.”  
Louis let go of my throat.  
“You have gone mad. My brother has lost his mind.”  
“No…” Now it was me who turned to him. “No, Louis. I know what I am talking about. I know what love feels like. Don't you remember the story of David and Johnathan in the Bible? Don't you know that they loved each other?”  
“Like brothers...”  
“No. Scripture says that Jonathan's love for David even surpassed the love of women. It says that they entered into a covenant because of their love for one another. Marriage, Louis. They married because they loved each other.”  
“Madness.”  
“Love. And yes, it can be madness. I agree. But it is my madness. My cherished madness of the heart.”

I took a very deep breath for what I was about to say next could either make or forever break my relationship with my brother. At least that was what I feared.  
“I know you remember, Louis. I know you remember my arms around you, my hand on your prick. I do. I remember your moans and gasps, your wild arousal and untamed release. Don't tell me that any woman has ever touched you like this. Knowing exactly where to apply pressure, when to speed up, how to twist her fingers.”  
“Shut up!” Louis obviously didn't want to hear any of it and turned away, ready to leave the bed. Oh no, not this time. I would not let him. My body reacted mostly by instinct just like it had all those years ago. I trapped my brother right there on my bed, my legs entangled with his, my hands holding him down by the wrists, my whole body weight forcing him into… well, not submission but at least temporary acceptance of his whereabouts.  
“How dare you, Philippe? I am the king!”  
“And I am your brother. And if you love me, you will stay here and listen!” The words were rasped into his ear, dangerously low. No, I would never hurt him but… I wondered if he would give me the chance to avoid that.  
“Philippe, for the love of God...”  
“God has nothing to do with this,” I hissed and pinned him down harder. Louis was facing me so I saw the anger in his face. Anger that I would pay for. Bitterly. And then… then I felt something else. Something that made me stop so abruptly, my whole body tensed. 

I felt my brother's prick against my leg, hard and throbbing. Of course Louis was immediately aware of my discovery. His reaction however was smooth, almost sly.  
“I know by now how to handle it. Thank you.”  
Ah… to simply hear him acknowledge the adventure of our youth. What a bliss. I couldn't help but twist my hip just slightly, applying pressure to my brother's groin. All I got out of him was a suppressed moan. The muscles in his arms tensed and once more he tried to shake me off. So scandalous I thought my discovery to be that my prick reacted to the excitement by filling fast and so full it almost hurt. I felt the same excitement that I knew from so many years ago. My brother, beautiful Louis, so close and so aroused.  
“Just a few days ago you offered yourself to me, did you not?”  
Louis pushed his heels into the sheets trying to get away. Of course all that did was angling his pelvis just right and we both couldn't help but gasp when sudden pressure and friction sent warm waves of pleasure into our groins. I can only assume but when his mouth opened slightly and he inhaled sharply, when his eyes widened and his struggle ceased, I knew. My brother couldn't help but give in to the desires of his own body. 

“A few days ago you asked me not to allow you to corrupt the king,” he said calmly, by now holding perfectly still. Yet, I still didn't let go. Too precious the closeness, too remarkable the intimacy. Also, I feared he might leave should I release him. I feared he was only able to stay right now because he could tell himself that this was his depraved brother forcing him, not his own choice.  
“I apologize.” I lowered my eyes for a moment and then looked into his again, searching for just a tad more. Approval? Permission?  
Louis might be a master negotiator and politician. I however was a master at seduction. And I fully intended to let him feel that. Oh, I was still mad at him but that fire only kindled the one in my groin.  
“We marry our cousins, our siblings, half or not. Why should we as brothers not share pleasure? We are closer to each other than anyone else could be. No one knows you like I do. No one understands you like I do. No one, Louis, loves you like I do.”  
“Hell fire, Philippe. That's why we should not!”  
“You commit adultery almost every day, aren't you?” My head lowered against his neck. I could see his heartbeat throbbing in his carotid. “Scripture says we will burn for either sin. Brother...” My voice became more urgent, almost desperately so. “Burn with me!” 

I lowered my head further until my lips could touch his neck. A gentle kiss, careful and chaste. Was there a shudder running through him? I opened my mouth wider. Another kiss, followed by a little bite. He turned his head – gave me more room. He actually gave me more room! Can anybody fathom my excitement?

“You… oh…” A soft moan from the king. I couldn't be happier. “You would condemn me to hell?”  
“You've condemned yourself, brother. So why not enjoy what you are offered until our time comes?”  
I knew his priests and bishops warn him every now and then that his lifestyle will grant him no entrance to heaven. And I knew he dismissed them every time. Just like I did.  
Another little bite to his throat and to my great joy I felt him relaxing more under my affections.  
“Sometimes I… watch,” he admitted and I raised an eyebrow. “You and the Chevalier. Sometimes I… can't help myself. You are beautiful, Philippe. And I wonder...”  
Slowly I let go of one of his wrists and used the hand instead to caress his face, shoulder and side. I was so gentle, so scared to shy him away.  
“Yes?” I hadn't known that but it certainly made my heart thunder.  
“I wonder what… it might feel like. I see the Chevalier's ecstatic bliss and I ask myself… what would it be like to feel a man's lips around my… me. Yours...” 

I held still. A confession like that made me tremble with lust and anticipation. It was hard to believe that these words had really just escaped his lips.  
“Close your eyes, Louis. I know it helps you.” Just like all those years ago I tried to make sure that he was comfortable. That, if he had to, he could imagine someone else. Not his brother. Immediately he obeyed and wasn't that the permission I needed?  
I let go of his other arm as well and pushed myself a little lower so I could climb off of him. I rested on my left elbow, while my right hand began to undo his breeches.  
“I want you to talk to me. Tell me what you feel, what it feels like. Tell me… whatever comes to your mind, really. I want to know it all.”  
He left out a little huff.  
“Or don't speak. But whatever you do, stay. In body and in mind. Stay with me.”  
The king placed his hands to his right and left on the bed. His right one just close enough for mine to touch. 

It was hard for me to keep my own arousal in check and not simply devour my brother like some beast that hadn't eaten in a decade. I tried to take my time. When I opened his breeches, I pushed against his prick several times and every time I heard him gasp. So delicious.  
And finally, there it was. I was in awe, had waited for this so many years. My fingertips ghosted over the length of my brother's rock hard prick and again I felt him shiver. I opened my mouth, so ready to taste, so ready to feel him against my lips. 

Suddenly the doors were thrown open. Versailles' bishop and four guards entered the room. No knocking, no warning. Louis pushed me away as fast as he could and covered his groin with the sheets. I was horrified. Absolutely horrified.  
“My king!” The bishop rushed to the bed. “We heard you shouting and thought you were in distress. We heard… talks of hellfire and...”  
He glanced at me. I couldn't even speak. Neither could Louis. We were frozen in shock and very obvious guilt.  
“Prince Philippe, the church arrests you for attempting to corrupt the king and condemn him to eternity hell.” The bishop nodded at the guards.  
“What?!” The stake! Immediately I thought about burning flesh on the stake! “Louis!”  
But my brother didn't answer. Didn't even look at me.  
“Louis!!”  
Two guards seized me, held me by the arms and it didn't matter how much I fought, how much I struggled. They dragged me out of my own chambers, away from my brother who didn't even so much as look at me.  
Oh… what have I done? I asked Louis to burn with me.  
Now I will.  
Alone.


	6. L'amour fraternel II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louis discovers Philippe's diary...

I.  
I scribble these lines on what little paper I have left. I'm almost out of ink, too and whenever I ask for more, I am denied. Surely another punishment for my oh so very insolent behavior. At least there is an infinite supply of wine and I certainly make good use of that.   
Yes, they dragged me away but not to prison as I feared first. Instead I was confided to my own chambers. The guards in front of the doors will not let me pass, no matter whether I command them, threaten them, or simply beg them. Beg? It was most certainly beneath me at first but as time went by and I lost track of what day it was, even begging suddenly became, well… not acceptable, certainly. Yet unfortunately it became an option. Of course it turned out to be as futile as everything else. Even the secret doors in my chambers are locked and I have not lost enough dignity yet to simply climb out of the window. 

Only recently was I informed that my beloved Chevalier is on his way back to Versailles. I long for him, his kisses, his touch, his love and yet wish he wouldn't return. Nobody gives up any information. I do not know if charges were brought up against me. I do not know whether Chevalier's return will be safe for him or not. I do not know if my very life is in danger. But I believe what tugs on my heart, on the very fabric of my being the most is the fact that my brother hasn't seen me in days. Not only has he not visited, no, I haven't even heard from him. No letter, no message, not even the faintest of whispers. I know he is in the palace so the only conclusion that my tortured mind allows me is that he doesn't care. He keeps me locked up in my rooms, most likely because some bishop told him to, disregarding entirely that he is my brother and as such he must have my back. Just as I have his. But do I now? I cannot say. Problems do not disappear simply because we keep them out of sight. It is what I am these days, or really, from birth on: a problem. 

My mind will not follow one train of thought to linger for very long. Must be the wine. Must be the lack of conversation and company. I am alone and while I often prefer that right now it makes me lonely. I pray, yes, I pray that my Beloved is safe, even when he comes back to this cursed place. And cursed it is for sure. A golden cage if there ever was one. A cage not just for me but also, it seems, for my brother. He is equally trapped here, unable to escape the walls he has had built himself. 

I am calm. Though sleep eludes me most nights, I do not fear what is ahead. Maybe that is simply because I keep the alcohol level in my blood consistently high enough to not care. For a week now… Or more? Less? I do not know anymore. For a long time it seems now I have been drinking just enough to stay warm, to remain dizzy and joyful to the point of silliness. To the point of having to focus as I write these lines, have to slow down, think over every word, every phrase. Dip the quill into the ink with a purposefully steady hand, exhale and bring it to the paper slowly to immortalize my thoughts. 

I know that Louis will neither have me killed, nor banished. I am his brother after all and whatever control he has over me, well… it is easiest executed when I am close to him. And alive. Who needs a legend after all? Louis certainly doesn't. No need for a story of the demon king who had his own brother thrown into prison or killed. Amusingly and somehow sadly, keeping me alive despite my failures and weaknesses is still more profitable for him than the alternative.   
It is clearer now than ever before. There is no way out of here. No way out of Versailles, out of my brother's influence. I will always be his. His to command, his to destroy or to lift up. Whatever pleases him on any given day. Then again, I wonder, what would it take for him to banish me, to denounce me? What would I have to do to be free of him? A crime grave enough to make it impossible for him to keep me close and yet not grave enough to sentence me to prison or worse, death.   
I will, I must come up with something. A plan, a scheme. Something that allows me freedom. A man cannot live in a cage, no matter how beautiful it is. A man cannot spend his life focusing all he is on the constant attempt to be weaker, inferior and less than his own brother. Freedom. Such a sweet word. How I long to taste it. Even if it's just for a day or two. 

II.

Mon Cher, 

your letter has reached me despite all odds. I do not know who you bribed, or threatened. I do not know how your lines made it through my brother's tight security. It doesn't matter. What does matter however is that I hold your lines in my hand. I would know the delicate up and down of your handwriting anywhere. Always. Oh and the scent of roses. How thoughtful of you to add it to your words. It reminds me of days spent safely in your arms. Nights filled with passion. 

You don't know. Mon Coeur, you don't know and that frightens me more than I can say. It is so very clear from your sweet words of affection that you haven't been told what happened. You look forward to your return to Versailles not aware that your Philippe is now a prisoner in his own chambers, not aware that returning into my arms might finally cause you the harm we always feared it would.   
I write this letter into my diary because I know that I can never send it. I am being watched too closely. 

Oh my love, forgive me. It was me. My behavior alone that endangers me, threatens us. Forgive me, even though I am not worthy of it. Forgive me, I missed you too much and tried to find consolation in someone else's arms. My brother's of all people. Forgive me for not being patient and waiting for you as I should have. Forgive me, beloved Chevalier, for my weaknesses. You know I am yours. You know you are mine.   
Should we come out of this unharmed, I swear to you, we will leave this place. We will go to… England maybe. It is after all my wife's homeland. Maybe the Holy Roman Empire. It is a vast and wild land. My brother's arm isn't quite long enough to reach us there. 

I am drinking too much and I know it. Just yesterday I spilled wine on the fine coat you gave me for my birthday. The one made from Chinese silk. It must have cost you a fortune. But I still wear it. It keeps you close.   
Oh forgive me, my love, for not being the man you see in me. I try but as you know, my weaknesses are many and my fear of being just another victim of the king's ever changing will drove me, well… it must have been madness. He is my brother after all. 

Oh hurry home, my dear heart, hurry back to me. Save me from it all. The wine, the accusations, the imprisonment, my brother. Oh dearest Chevalier, stay away from Versailles. This time I fear, even you will not be able to outsmart it. This time for sure, it will ask for a bigger sacrifice than a pretty smile and a coat made of Chinese silk. I can barely read what I just wrote. The wine? Or maybe the tears that fall onto the paper and erase this proof of my self-pity. More wine! 

III.

Brother, 

I write these lines into your diary that you have left so carelessly unguarded on your desk. I should burn it. The threat it poses not just to you but also to me and the whole kingdom is nearly unfathomable. But then why don't I? Why instead do I write to you as if it is the only way for us to communicate? Well, the truth is, I cannot talk to you. I've tried. Finally, after over a week I found it in me to see you and what must I find? My own brother passed out on the floor next to his bed, reeking of wine, clothes filthy and impossible to wake up. My own guards picked you up and carried you into bed. I sent them away. What else could I do? If there is a spark of your dignity I can preserve, I shall. And so I took it on myself to undress you, to get rid of the coat, the breeches and the undergarments you must have been wearing for at least a week. 

Your body is hot. A fever maybe? When I touch your forehead you moan as if chased by night terrors. A fever… I almost pray for it. Wouldn't it be the perfect excuse? The perfect explanation for your behavior? A fever induced madness? Surely you mistook me for the Chevalier. Surely you would never… Not your own brother. Even you are not that depraved. I remember your touch very well. Your passion. If only you would allow me to show you tenderness between brothers. True affection, pure and chaste touches and not the depravity you call love.  
I stroke strands of greasy hair out of your face. You are beautiful even now, brother. Underneath all the filth, the alcohol, the despair, you are stunningly beautiful. More so than most women of the court. Oh… what if I…   
______

Hours have passed and you are still not awake. I called for Mademoiselle Masson. She does have my trust. I know you don't approve of her but well… you are not the one to command me, now, are you, Brother? I asked her how to induce a fever, or at least to make it look like one. She is a remarkable woman. Her service is selfless and thoroughly from the heart. Something I cannot say about many men and women at court. 

Your sleep is more disturbed now. Of course it is. Pearls of sweat have formed on your forehead. You are breathing in little gasps, cheeks flushed, hands gliding over the sheets looking for something, or most likely someone to hold on. I lay my hand into yours and immediately you grab it, cling to it like a drowning man. But what are you drowning in? Your own sins, maybe? Your misconceptions? Your… how did you call it… “cherished madness of the heart”? 

I love you, Philippe. It pains me every time you doubt that. I love you not just because you are my brother but because you are a good man. You might not be destined for greatness but you do have a place in history, right by my side. I know that underneath all your sins there lies buried an honest man. How could I ever stop trying to reach him?   
I kiss your cheek, little brother, and lay down next to you, the curve of your back against my chest. Your body is hot now. Clearly a fever however artificial. I am the King of France, my responsibilities and burdens are many but if someone stripped me of all that, I still am and always remain your big brother, your protector. If only you would allow me to save you. 

Soon I must call the bishop and convince him that fever induced madness drove you to your most inappropriate behavior. He will believe it. My version of the truth is the truth. Haven't you written these exact words into your diary?  
But right now, just allow me a minute or two by your side, in private. You never allow me to just hold you close like we did when we were little boys. You still look like a boy when you are asleep and my heart but tumbles in my chest, heavy and yet featherlight with the pure affection and the unconditional love I have for you. My Philippe… My sweet, sweet Philippe...


End file.
